


A Different Story

by witchhiking



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:15:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22989943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchhiking/pseuds/witchhiking
Summary: They first met as children.
Relationships: Agron/Nasir
Comments: 18
Kudos: 52





	1. Nasir

Nasir was resolute in two things.

One: He would never forgive his Baba and Yema for taking him to Germania.

While the sun hadn’t completely turned its back on the land, Nasir found its presence was a poor imitation of the sun he had known back in Assyria; even days that were declared to be warm he found himself seeking his brother Bazi’s cloak and shaking until Bazi vigorously rubbed his hands over Nasir’s arms in a vain attempt to warn him. It placated Bazi more than anything else.

Germania was always and forever would be, Nasir decided, cold. Cold air, cold wind, cold ground, cold water; cold, cold, _cold_. It was nothing like the cool nights on desert sands. Those were a welcome reprieve from the sun’s grasp that never lasted through to morning. The cold of Germania was inescapable. It moved slowly; biting into the skin as a distraction so that it could then seep into the body and make a home in the bones, never to release one from its grasp.

So, Nasir would never forgive his Baba and Yema for taking him to Germania and asking – _forcing_ – him to suffer.

Two: The German people were, as a whole, idiots.

All he had yet to see them do was shout aggressive words at each other that brought laughter and smiles despite bearing the cadence of insult. They slapped each other constantly; on the back, on the arm, even on the ass on one horrific occasion Nasir sought to erase from his memory. If they were not slapping each other and throwing around strange words, they were wrestling one another to the ground and cheering for the victor. As if the greatest honour was to be pummelled to the ground. Nasir didn’t understand where the joy to be had in fighting with ones kin was. The Germans welcomed it; relished it.

For their strange, nonsensical ways, Nasir decided they were idiots and despite his Baba’s admonishing of the statement, Nasir held fast to his belief. What other explanation was there for people who hit their head so often?

“We are the strange ones here,” his Baba said, “you must not forget that. We are fortunate to be so welcomed on their soil.”

His Yema hummed softly in agreement, working a small comb through the knots in Nasir’s black hair.

“I do not feel strange!” Nasir protested.

All three of his family laughed at that.

With a huff, Nasir swatted his Yema’s hands away. It only served to have him laughed at again, this time with Bazi reaching over to tug gently at Nasir’s smoothed out hair.

And so he would never forgive his Baba and Yema for taking him to the land of idiot Germans, and for leaving him alone with their cart and Bazi while his parents ventured further into the village to deal with trade discussions.

Had Baba or Yema at least stayed, Nasir might not be so sullen. As it was, Nasir was left to stew in the grass while his brother took to sleeping in the back of the cart. A quick peek had shown Bazi curled around their spice jars. There was no reason for it to annoy Nasir, but it did.

He sighed and reached down to the grass, cold and slick with dew between his fingers, and tore it from the earth only to let it drop back to whence it came. Some blades stuck to his skin. Nasir wiped them on his trousers and reached back to down to pull another handful from the soil.

“ _Was tust du?_ ”

Nasir’s head snapped up at the strange voice, dark brown eyes widening. A boy – German, if the dirty white skin and mess of brown hair was anything to go by – stared down at him. The boy titled his head and Nasir was reminded of the curious pups he’d spotted being trained to coral goats for reasons Nasir didn’t comprehend.

“Go away,” Nasir responded sharply in his native tongue.

The boy titled his head in the other direction, understanding Nasir’s language as much as Nasir understood his; not at all. The boy frowned. Nasir took it as a small victory.

That was, until the boy took it upon himself to drop down in front of Nasir, sitting cross legged in front of him with both hands in his lap and a smile splitting his round face. More German words came from his mouth. Nasir didn’t bother pretending to understand them.

He stared. The boy’s smile faltered.

Nasir dropped the grass from his hand and the boy watched it with a furrowed brow and yet another tilt of the head.

Did the boy think the gods were going to come down and serve as personal translators? He must have, since he continued to speak German words. Then, he clapped a closed fist over his chest. A soft thud sounded from the impact. “Agron,” the boy said.

Nasir blinked.

The boy smiled, cheeks dimpling. A fist hit his chest again. His loose tunic billowed from the motion. “Agron!”

Slowly, Nasir tried the word in his mouth. It wasn’t right but it was the German boy’s fault for having such a name. “Ay-eh-gron?”

The boy, Agron, laughed. “Agron.”

“ _Aye-gron._ ”

“ _Ae-gron._ ”

Nasir huffed. This was stupid. The name was stupid. German was stupid. Despite it, Nasir pressed a flat hand to his chest – if only for the sake of showcasing the manners his Baba and Yema worked so hard to teach him. “Nasir.”

“ _Nazur._ ”

“ _Naz-eer._ ”

Agron shifted on the grass, uncrossing his legs, and gave it one final, drawn out try. “Nasir.”

Nasir grinned, and laughed. “Nasir!”

“Agron!” The German boy cheered with the same bright grin.

The next thing Nasir knew, Agron was tackled to the ground with a loud shout from the would be attacker. Agron laughed at the sudden assault. Nasir startled and kicked at the ground to get away from the scuffle. When the rolling horseplay finally ceased, Agron and the much smaller arrival sat beside each other and looked at Nasir with matching smiles.

Nasir was reminded of why he hated the Germans; they sought bruises with the same fervour a drunk did alcohol – as his Baba would have said of anyone who held an affinity for anything. Nasir didn’t fully understand the statement, but the first time he had repeated it Bazi hollered in delight and clapped Nasir approvingly on the back. That alone was enough for Nasir to add the phrase to his lexicon. It was a comparison well suited to Germans and their constant need for rough housing that Nasir could never find himself enjoying.

Bazi had likened him to a peach on more than one occasion, saying Nasir was soft and easily wounded.

Nasir had kicked him for it.

Agron knocked his fist over the other boy’s chest. “Duro!” he exclaimed.

The little Duro grinned and Nasir would have thought the two of them twins if he wasn’t given the chance to take a longer look. Agron was taller, leaner, and his face was just a bit longer. But it was his green eyes that truly set the brothers apart.

Nasir had never seen green eyes before. Immediately, he decided that he liked them.

Duro elbowed Agron and they easily fell back into their wrestling match. Nasir, despite himself, smiled and laughed loudly at the show.

“Nasir?”

At the sound of Bazi’s voice, Nasir twisted around. Soon enough, the boy in question appeared from out of the back of the cart. Black curls were pressed flat to the side of his head from where he’d been sleeping on them and Bazi’s brown eyes were rimmed red from interrupted sleep. He poked his head out from behind the red curtain and scowled.

“ _Ahku, att -_ ” Bazi stopped himself when he saw Duro and Agron, who had stopped in their jostling to look at the new arrival – Agron was sitting on Duro’s stomach and Duro seemed to not care at being the loser.

Bazi’s brow creased. He looked to Nasir, and Nasir shrugged.

He shoved the curtain aside, climbed out of the cart, and lent back against the wooden frame with his arms crossed. “You make friends?”

Agron and Duro scuffled to get away from each other. Immediately, Agron was on his feet. He and Bazi both stood a head taller than Nasir.

Nasir bit his lip, trying not to smile and wholly failing. “I do.”

Nasir twisted back to face Agron and Duro, holding a hand out in the direction of his unimpressed brother. “Bazi!” he proclaimed.

The two boys grinned and pressed fists to their chests, reciting their own names. Bazi raised an eyebrow at the pair. Slowly, he drew his gaze back to Nasir. “They look of messy dogs,” he commented. Nasir laughed. Agron and Duro titled their heads, confused by the foreign words.

“All Germans are dogs,” Nasir responded.

Bazi grinned. “Go play, _akhu,_ ” he waved a hand, “Baba and Yema will not return soon.”

Nasir’s smile faltered. “Join us.”

Bazi waved a hand. “I would prefer to return to sleep.”

At that, Nasir could only roll his eyes.

“Agron, Duro.” The two looked to Bazi; Duro smiling, Agron not. “ _Sieh zu, das du mir Nasir zurück bringst, bevor die Sonne untergeht._ ”

The words were meaningless to Nasir, but Duro’s glance to Agron and Agron’s determined nod seemed to be enough for Bazi. Nasir barely had a chance to stand before Duro grabbed his arm and dragged him away.

Behind him, Bazi’s voice rang out. “Be safe, _akhu._ ”

The hours passed like minutes, and in that time Nasir learnt a handful of things.

He learnt – assumed, really – that Agron was the eldest brother. He would often see Duro about to do something only to have Agron shout something in German and see Duro immediately stop in his plans; it was too familiar to Nasir, the way Duro heeled to Agron. It was something he often did with Bazi.

Nasir also learnt German words. At least, he thought he had, and was already planning to have Baba, Yema, or Bazi aid him in it. _Bruder, halt, nicht, Dummkopf_ – these were the words he had absorbed.

Lastly, Nasir had learnt Germans were just a bit disgusting. But, he should have assumed that given their tendency towards idiocy, so it was a lesson he was less proud of making known.

It wasn’t a horrible day.

It was almost...

Fun.

Nasir didn’t want to admit it, but his day with the wild German dogs was fun.

He could almost come to appreciate the cold wind when they ran along with it; the breeze pushed them all further, made their legs and arms swing faster. It was like flying. By the time they stopped running, the cold was almost welcome against Nasir’s warmed skin.

Almost.

But, eventually, the day ended. Sunlight began to steadily vanish, and Agron took it upon himself to personally return Nasir back to the cart, with Duro having retreated to gods knew where. The little Duro had a knack for disappearing and appearing seemingly out of nowhere. It had startled Nasir more than once, much to Duro and Agron’s delight.

As they walked back over the grassy knoll, Agron rattled on in German. It was making Nasir’s head pound, and as daylight disappeared, the cold he had cursed that very morning began to return to him. He crossed his arms, trying to fight his body’s urge to shake.

Agron passed him a curious glance and asked him something in German. Nasir shot him a glare.

They had spent the entire day together, and Agron didn’t seem to comprehend that it was not enough for Nasir to have magically learnt his brutish tongue.

Germans; idiots.

Not phased by Nasir’s glare and lack of answer, Agron slung an arm over his shoulders and pulled Nasir close. Nasir huffed, but accepted the gesture. It helped, somewhat. Agron only pulled his arm away when the small cart and horse came into view.

He turned to face Nasir and smiled. “ _Auf Wiedersehen?_ ”

Nasir glanced at the cart, then back to Agron, offering a faint smile in return. “ _B’Shayno._ ”

Baba and Yema returned not soon after Nasir and it wasn’t long after that the small family was sitting around the fire, passing dried fruits and sparingly spiced meats among each other. Nasir sat close to his brother, soaking in the warmth of his presence and the flames. Nasir was silent while Baba and Yema spoke of their trades during the day. He wasn’t listening. He nibbled on his food and simply watched the fire; small, but as full of life as the German brothers that had stolen the day from him and plagued his mind. 

Nasir smiled at the memory of them.

Memories of Duro only shouting Agron’s name as warning before jumping onto Agron’s back to be carried along; of Agron hugging Nasir tightly absent any clear reason; of Duro and Nasir seated across from one another as Duro tried to teach Nasir a routine of clapping their hands on their thighs and against each other to a German song Nasir hadn’t understand but enjoyed nonetheless.

“No use saying such things to Nasir, he is not of the world at this moment,” Bazi teased, elbowing Nasir in the ribs and drawing Nasir from his thoughts with a scowl.

“Where are your thoughts, little bird?” Yema asked, smiling softly.

Nasir shrugged. “What is happening?” He had missed something, clearly.

The fire cracked as Baba spoke. “We leave in the morning.”

“We only just arrived,” Nasir protested.

His Baba looked over the flames, meeting Nasir’s gaze with a furrowed brow. “You wish us to stay longer?”

Nasir opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. It was Bazi who cut in. “Of course he does! He is turning German on us.”

“I am no German!”

Yema chuckled and nodded, dark curls falling over her shoulder. “Such a thing made obvious by simple glance.” She reached over, tugging at one of Nasir’s locks. It didn’t hurt, but he swatted her hand away all the same.

Baba shot him a look. Nasir sighed, his shoulders drooping. “Why do we leave so soon?”

“You know why, Nasir. Must we have this discussion again?”

Nasir pulled his knees to his chest. “No, Baba.”

Nomads, Baba called them. Nasir didn’t know what to think of the word. Baba insisted they weren’t made to stay in one place for long; their home was with the people at their side, not the lands they stepped foot upon. Easy words for a Bedouin man, but his Yema always cast Baba a look that Nasir couldn’t comprehend.

It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t sad. It was indecipherable.

Later, when Nasir had first questioned it, Bazi explained to him in a whisper how their Yema was not of Baba’s people.

Nasir didn’t think there could be much different between a Bedouin and anyone else from Assyrian lands. Bazi had called him a fool and refused to speak further on the matter.

“Did you enjoy your time with the German brothers?” Baba asked.

Nasir shrugged, gaze fixed on the fire. “They are strange."

Another soft laugh from his mother rang out. It helped to push the storm clouds from Nasir’s mind. “We are the strange ones, Nasir. Always remember, this is their land. We are but guests.”

Nasir didn’t feel strange. When he said as much, both his parents laughed. When he looked to Bazi for an explanation, Bazi only grinned and tugged at his hair affectionately.

Nasir huffed and swatted his hand away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a multi chapter fic following Nasir and Agron from this point and on to the end of the series, so stick around for more.
> 
> Baba – Father  
> Yema – Mother  
> Akhu – Brother  
> B’Shayno – stay in peace/goodbye
> 
> Was tut du – What are you doing?  
> Auf Wiedersehen – Goodbye  
> Sieh zu, das du mir Nasir zurück bringst, bevor die Sonne untergeht – See Nasir returned to me before the sun sets.  
> Bruder – Brother  
> Halt – Stop  
> Nicht – Don’t  
> Dummkopf - Idiot


	2. Agron

“Pay attention, Agron!”

He couldn’t help his aggressive sigh in response to his Onkel’s scolding. While he was not keeping track, if Agron had been, he would estimate it was the fourth time Onkel had to reprimand Agron for his wandering mind.

“Why?” Agron hissed. “What is the point in this?”

“The point,” Onkel pointed a large finger in his face, “is for you to be able to pick up scroll and understand words written.”

Agron rolled his eyes, ignoring how it deepened Onkel’s frown. “And what is the point in that?”

He leaned away from the finger until he collapsed backwards onto the cloth they had spread over the earth. Agron kept his gaze fixed on the roof; it was a freshly constructed shelter and it showed. Cloth over the gross instead of proper flooring, gaps in the slatted roof, bed rolls in favour of proper palettes to sleep upon. The hut was nothing special to speak of but it stopped the winds and most of the rain, and that was all they needed. Onkel claimed it was only for the time being; soon they would expand and reinforce the hovel.

Soon had yet to come.

“Do not ask such a foolish thing.”

Agron shot up and clenched his fists, casting his Onkel a sharp look. “It is not foolish!”

He waved a hand at the display between them. Onkel had spread out chunks of animal bone. Each piece had a symbol etched into its marrow.

“ _This_ is foolish,” Agron snapped. “I have not seen any other of our tribe display use of this... this...”

The word Agron sought was beyond his grasp.

Nonsense, perhaps.

After all, they were Germans. Ink and parchment had no place in the loud thunders of their people, shared only through voices with drinks in hand.

“Agron,” Onkel finally dropped his hand to his lap, “if not you, who would you see learn such a thing?”

Agron hitched a shoulder. “Girls? They have nothing better to do.”

Onkel barked a laugh. Agron growled.

“So, _mein Junge_ , you would see to it only girls learn the way of words and boys the way of sword?”

“If either is to be insisted as a necessity, then yes!”

Onkel’s grin was wicked and Agron knew immediately he’d fallen into a trap.

“And should the day come you find yourself with scroll in hand and no woman?”

Agron refused to justify that question with an answer. Instead, he dropped his gaze and scowled at the pile of bones.

“And,” Onkel unfortunately continued, “should a woman find herself in need of protection and lacking knowledge of weaponry?”

Well then she would die, would she not?

He looked back up to his Onkel. “You would see every one know weapon and words?” Agron would not admit defeat so soon.

Smiling, Onkel nodded.

“Then,” Agron pointed a much smaller finger in Onkel’s face, “why am I the only one you force this upon?”

This brought out another sharp laugh from his Onkel. He gently knocked Agron’s hand away.

“Should anyone else seek such knowledge I will share it with joy, but I cannot force it on those who do not share my blood.”

Agron groaned. The Gods clearly did not favour Agron in making him related to this man.

Onkel reached over and grasped Agron’s chin with dry, calloused fingers. He waited until Agron met his gaze to speak.

“See this lesson completed and I will allow you to forgo chores in favour of picking up sword once again.

Agron narrowed his eyes. “That is a bribe.”

“One you would be most wise in accepting, _mein Junge_.”

During his sword lessons Agron had been told to never let an enemy know his weakness. Clearly that lesson had no place when he was with the man who had known him since his birth.

It was official: Agron was defeated.

He bit his lip and nodded. Onkel dropped his hand and patted Agron’s shoulder.

“ _Gut_ ,” he returned his attention to the bones between them, “now, we call this one _Ingwaz_.”

Agron nodded and repeated the word slowly, slouching forward as his Onkel continued on, only pausing to occasionally scratch his trim beard.

This was how Agron would die.

It had to be.

Nothing else in his life could be more excruciating than sitting there while his Onkel tried to explain to Agron the meaning of each different symbol and how to string them together to form words.

Thank the Gods for Duro.

Duro barrelled through the curtain strung up in the doorway and nearly toppled onto Agron when his foot caught on the laid out cloth. He stopped himself with both hands on Agron’s shoulders.

Onkel was on his feet immediately. Agron tried to twist to look back and up at Duro who grinned so wildly Agron almost didn’t want to know the cause of it.

The last time Duro had looked like that was the prior year; he had dragged Agron into watching a goat give birth.

It was horrific.

He knew better than to blindly follow his brother after that.

Panting, Duro pushed overgrown curls from his face.

“The Syrians return!” he declared.

Agron grinned as he whipped around to face his Onkel. Onkel grabbed his hand and hoisted Agron to his feet with ease.

“The Gods answer your prayers and see an end to your lesson,” Onkel whispered

Agron laughed and raced out of the hut. He only paused long enough to grab Duro’s arm and drag him along, knowing Onkel trailed not too far behind.

Their bare feet thumped over the grass as they raced towards the cart; a race Agron won. He had intended to slow down and let Duro overtake him but as soon as he’d spotted the red cloth with its golden embroidery glistening in the midday sun, Agron had taken off and left Duro behind.

It had been a full moon’s cycle since they last the Syrians. Everyone in the tribe itched for something new to break up the monotonous routine of their lives. Hopefully the return of the strange family was enough to sate them. It was certainly enough for Agron.

He stopped a few yards away from the cart and horse. Duro collided into him. They both almost fell to the ground. Duro wrapped his arms around Agron’s right one and shifted his weight back to keep them both steady.

Agron didn’t get a chance to call Duro an idiot. From around the side of the cart came the father of the Syrians – Adamo.

Onkel marched forward and Adamo grinned. They approached with open arms until they were both wrapped around each other in a brief hug.

Duro tugged Agron’s arm. Agron tried to shake Duro off with little success.

“You return in good health,” Onkel declared loudly, taking a step back from Adamo to look him up and down.

Adamo nodded and responded in German so accented Agron couldn’t make it out, but Onkel seemed to have no such issue.

“And what of the wares promised?” he asked.

Duro elbowed Agron in the side. Agron growled. He whipped to look at Duro, narrowing his eyes as he debated tackling him to the ground.

Releasing him, Duro jerked his head forward.

Agron glanced in the direction, seeing nothing but the cart. He looked back to Duro, only Duro was no longer at his side.

Of course.

Agron bit back a sigh and followed in the only possible direction Duro could have or would have gone. He strolled past the horse, deciding Duro could only do so much harm. 

Agron would at least drag the idiot back should he try and go inside the cart.

Or maybe he wouldn’t.

Maybe he would sit back and revel in Onkel giving Duro a good smack for his behaviour. It might finally knock some sense into it. The Gods knew Agron’s attempts at corralling his brother had been mostly wasted.

Duro, crouched low in front of Agron, neared the back of the cart.

Agron stood straight and trailed behind him.

The eldest Syrian boy was at the back of the cart. He lent against it, his long curls tied to the top of his head and his eyebrow raised at Duro and Agron as they stepped into view.

Bazi pressed a single finger over his lips.

Agron frowned, but nodded his understanding.

A moment passed, then the curtain jostled as Nasir climbed out of the cart. He whispered Syrian words to Bazi, who responded in kind then waved a hand in the direction of Agron and Duro.

Nasir leaned past Bazi. When his gaze locked with Agron’s both boys beamed.

“You are back,” Agron spoke softly. Resisting the urge to laugh and hug Nasir was a greater struggle than sitting through Onkel’s lessons.

“ _Ich bin_ ,” Nasir nodded.

Agron stared, stunned and wholly delighted at the German that poured from Nasir’s lips. His cheeks ached from the force of his grin.

“ _Was bist du_?” Agron prompted.

Nasir frowned. It was not a welcome sight.

Beside Nasir, Bazi pressed a fist to his smile, shoulders shaking with repressed laughter.

Nasir elbowed him. “Bazi!” he hissed.

Unable to fight it, Bazi snickered.

“He speaks German now?” Duro asked loudly.

All three boys hushed him and Agron finished it off with an all too satisfying smack to the back of Duro’s head.

“ _Yema ist krank_ ,” Nasir murmured.

Bazi quickly supplied “mutter” and Agron’s stomach dropped. He glanced to the curtain. The once welcome crimson reminded Agron of blood.

He didn’t know what to say so he said nothing.

Duro was less phased, speaking in a thankfully quiet tone, “then let us part.”

Nasir smiled and nodded. He grasped Bazi’s hand and stepped forward.

Bazi didn’t move.

They stood, arms stretched out, hands locked together, gazes locked.

“ _Agana_ ,” Nasir said, looking at Bazi.

Agron could only see Bazi’s face, but he could guess as to the pleading but stern expressing Nasir wore.

Bazi adjusted his footing. “ _Adini ul_.”

Nasir sighed. Agron shifted, glancing to the curtain once again.

“Bazi...”

“ _Adini ul_ ,” Bazi said again. He was more forceful. The tone would have worked on Duro coming from Agron. Nasir, however, didn’t budge.

__

__

“ _Addaniqa_ ,” he murmured.

Whatever the word meant, it was enough for Bazi’s shoulders to droop. He sighed, and glanced back to the cart before stepping closer to Nasir. Words flew between them quickly. Agron hated not knowing what was happening, but the only other possibility was for him to learn the Syrian tongue, which was more than unlikely.

Whatever Nasir said had worked. Nasir and Bazi released hands, and Bazi followed behind them.

It was different than the last day they had spent together. While Nasir was less subdued, he was just as quiet, though followed along better with his limited understanding of German. Having Bazi always at the ready to translate was a gift from the Gods themselves.

Although now, Bazi had abandoned them in favour of occupying Duro. Their laughter – and Duro’s occasionally frustrated shout – rang out nearby. At his last glance, Agron had seen them; Bazi egged Duro into a chase and Duro gave into it with glee. Duro stood no chance of ever catching Bazi, but Agron suspected at some point Bazi would have mercy and let Duro win their strange game.

While they played, Nasir and Agron had spread out on the grass.

Nasir lay with his hands resting on his stomach and his gaze fixed upwards. Agron put both his hands behind his hand and stared at Nasir.

Even beyond the colour of his skin, Nasir was different from the other boys in the village.

His nose went straight then down, his hair looked as black as the night sky, and his brow kept just a bit lower. Agron wondered if everyone looked as the Syrian family did or if there was yet more variety to be had in their homeland.

Did they all speak the same strange words? Did they all carry the same smell that tickled Agron’s nose in a delightfully irritating way?

Onkel explained it was the smell of spices from their homeland. Agron was surprised by how much he liked it.

“You stare,” Nasir said in German tongue.

Agron wouldn’t deny it. “I do.”

Nasir turned his head to look at Agron.

His eyes, Agron realized, were a dark brown like he had never seen on his German brethren.

“Why?” Nasir asked.

Agron didn’t know how to answer that. Even if he did, he doubted Nasir would understand.

“You do not look of your brother,” Agron spoke slowly, giving Nasir time to puzzle out the statement.

“Oh,” was all he said.

Agron smiled. “You and Bazi,” he waited for Nasir’s nod of understanding, “are different.”

“Yes,” Nasir smiled, “we are different.”

“Why?” Agron asked.

Nasir’s confused smile was answer enough. This was a conversation they couldn’t have. Not yet. Not with such a limited amount of shared words. It was easier to look back up to the clouds.

Nasir pointed to one shaped like an axe. “ _Hassinu_.”

Agron nodded, repeating the words.

A ship: “ _Ilippu_.”

A dog: “ _Kalbu_.”

 _Naasharu, nunu, enzu, kakkabu_.

Agron repeated each word and grinned when Nasir laughed at his poor pronounciation. In return, Agron gave him a gentle smack on the arm – which made Nasir laugh even more – and spoke the words in German instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Yema ist krank – Mother is sick  
> Mutter – Mother  
> Agana – Come on  
> Adini ul – Not yet  
> Addaniqa – Please
> 
> Hassinu - Axe  
> Ilippu – Ship  
> Kalbu – Dog  
> Naasharu - Eagle  
> Nunu – Fish  
> Enzu – Goat  
> Kakkabu – Star


	3. Respite

It wasn’t until his hand was on the curtain, pushing it aside to peer into the cart, that Agron thought perhaps he was over stepping. While the Syrians had stayed with the tribe for a week, that did not mean he had the right to do this. It was a voice too similar to his mother’s that told Agron he knew better; it was the fact that the voice sounded at all like his mother’s that Agron pressed on.

“ _Yema ist krank,_ ” Nasir had said.

That was seven days ago, and in those seven days, no other explanation had been offered other than informing Agron that Yema would be fine. Agron wasn’t owed an explanation, but that did not stop him from wanting one. If Agron’s gaze lingered on the cart, hoping to see the woman peek her face out, looking well, looking healthy, looking alive, then that was his own business.

She had yet to do so.

Agron decided to take matters into his own hands.

Thus, after seven days, on a night of music and dancing and feast, Agron had snuck away from the tribe – from Nasir and Bazi and Duro – to investigate. The further he drifted from the bonfire into the cool night the heavier the rock settled in his stomach. He hesitated to touch the red fabric as if it would burn him. He almost wished it would; to give him a reason to free from the breach in trust the Syrians had placed upon them all and to forever let what remained of the woman behind the curtain to be a mystery.  


The fabric didn’t burn his fingertips. Agron pulled it aside as carefully as if he were handling a new born Duro.

Agron had expected to see a number of things, on that list was not the sight of Nasir’s mother sitting comfortably in a pile of fabrics, staring at Agron with round brown eyes and a curious smile. She did not look sick. Her face was not paled, her body not starved, her smile not strained and easily wiped from her face when a coughing fit came; she looked nothing like Agron’s mother had, wrapped in cloth and curled near the fire and constantly declaring herself frozen; thin and pallid with dead eyes and clammy skin. Nasir’s mother looked as healthy as the first day Agron had seen her. The only concern to be found in her soft brown features were the bags under her eyes.

Agron’s relief was insurmountable.

He cleared his throat. “Apologies.”

She tilted her head, still smiling. “You look lost,” she responded in German. Thankfully, her accent was not nearly as thick as Adamo’s.

“I was told you had fallen ill.”

Her smile faltered and Agron thought his heart might cease beating in his chest. Perhaps she really was sick and the worst of it had yet to hit; perhaps she would be swept into the afterlife just as Agron’s mother had been.

Just as quickly as it disappeared, her smile returned. “Are you the little Duro or the far too tall Agron my boys speak of?”

He snorted a laugh. Was it his fault Nasir was so small? “Agron.”

“Come. Sit.” She shifted, pushing long, straight black hair over her shoulder, and tapped the spot next to her in the cart.

Agron glanced to the spot then over his shoulder. No one had taken notice of his leave, it seemed. Boisterous conversation and flute music could still be heard in the distance. He climbed into the cart, letting the curtain fall back into place, and took the spot indicated to him. It was a small space. Most of it was taken up by jars and small crates roped to the side. On one rested a candle. The faint orange glow enveloped them. Yema pulled her knees to her chest, watching him settle into the blue and green cloth, his own beige and brown clothing felt even more out of place.

“You may call me Kaniaw.”

Agron nodded slowly. “Not Yema?”

“Am I your _Mutter _now?” she laughed softly.  
__

____

____

Agron blushed. “Apologies,” he mumbled, looking downward, “it was thought to be your name.”  


Still, she only smiled. It was sweet and comfortable and so familiar it made Agron’s chest ache. “ _Yema _means mother.”  
__

____

____

“Kaniaw, then. If it pleases you.”  


“It does.”  


Agron nodded, looking back up to Kaniaw. “You do not seem ill.” Anyone with sickness never had such spirits as she did, deflated as they may seem.  


“I am. It... I will confess, I do not fully understand much of German ways.”  


Nor did he understand Syrian ways.  


She continued, “my people often face sickness of the body and of the mind.”  


He furrowed his brow. She had a sickness in her head? Onkel would have to explain that, for Agron couldn’t make sense of such a thing. For now, it didn’t matter.  


“You will recover?”  


“I should think so.”  


“ _Gut _.”  
__

__Nasir should not lose this woman. Agron didn’t know much of the world, but he knew the smile of a mother and the soft touches and gentle gazes they could give. Duro could not remember it and Agron could never forget.  
_ _

Kaniaw smiled and whispered, “ _annu kenu _.”__

__

_____ _

____

____

__

__Slowly, he smiled back. Agron knew he should leave; whatever had befallen her required she rest, and Agron had done nothing but take up her time and energy for his own selfish reasons. Onkel would not be pleased to hear he had done this at all.  
_ _

__“Will you join us?” he asked. “At the feast?”  
_ _

__She shook her head. “I think not. I do not find myself up to the task of celebrating.”  
_ _

__“It is no celebration.”  
_ _

__“It bears the sounds of one.”  
_ _

__Agron grinned. “Join us, then, and the day there is a proper celebration you will see how wrong you are.”  
_ _

__Kaniaw barked out a laugh. “You are a bold one!”  
_ _

__“Apo-”  
_ _

__She lifted her hand to silence him; not angry, not scolding, simply giving Agron the same sweet smile. “You will fair well in this world with such a sharp tongue. Practice its proper use.”  
_ _

He bit his lip, holding back another apology, and instead gave her a sharp nod. She tapped his nose with a soft finger. “ _Gut _.”__

__

_____ _

____

____

__

Agron smiled carefully. “ _An – Annu kēnnu _.”__

__

_______ _ _ _

_____ _

\- - - 

Let it not be said the German people didn’t know how to throw a celebration. What exactly they were celebrating had yet to be revealed to Nasir, but the fact remained that when they did celebrate, it was no small affair. It had started when the hunters had returned with what Nasir declared to be The Beast. It was larger than a full grown German man; thick, dark hair was matted with blood and large bone like spikes jutted out of its maw.  


Agron explained it was something called an _eber _, then Duro had tried to get Nasir closer to the dead mass. Nasir only moved on principal. Should he do what he truly wanted, which was to get as far away from The Beast as possible, Agron would never let him hear the end of it.  
__

____

____

Two days prior Agron had said, "you are strange.". They were seated in the small hut Agron shared with his brother and uncle; Nasir was studying the carved pieces of bone with wide eyed wonder while Agron studied Nasir with a smile and a creased brow.  


“Why do all think I am strange?” Nasir looked up at him and scowled.  


Agron laughed at the expression which did nothing to aid Nasir's sour expression. “Because you are!”  


Nasir tossed one of the pieces of bone his way. It bounced off of Agron’s chest. Agron laughed and reached out to pull his hair. Nasir didn’t swat his hand away.  


“You are angry and scared of everything,” Agron stated.  


Nasir would not let such a statement go unchallenged in the face of The Beast.  


When the hunters returned, it was Ewald who stepped into view of the gathering of German families; he wiped at the blood on his face which only served to smear it up to his hair and declared on that night, they would feast.  


The festivities started when the music did; strings and flutes echoed over the snapping fire and the crackling meat and fat of The Beast; it startled Nasir how familiar the sounds were to nights spent in Assyria. For a moment he could pretend they had never left home at all.  


“Nasir!”  


Duro’s voice almost went unheard, but the dirty hands he wrapped around Nasir’s bicep did not. He let the younger pull him close. “We lost you!” Duro laughed.  


“I lost _you_ ,” Nasir corrected, pressing close to avoid being knocked down by the wild hands of the wild Germans.  


Losing him was an easy task; little Duro prided himself on his ability to be nowhere and everywhere. “We are both found, then, now come!”  


Duro tugged at Nasir’s arm to get him to move along through the crowd. Bodies blurred past as they moved, glowing orange in the setting sun and warm fire Duro dragged them around.  


“Where do you take me?” Nasir huffed, stumbling for a moment only to be righted by Duro.  


“To Bazi and Agron,” Duro answered. Nasir breathed a sigh of relief. “They wish you to see an end to their argument.”  


Nasir laughed shortly. “Such a thing is not possible with those two.”  


“Bazi started it,” Duro shrugged a shoulder, shoving against a women to get past. Nasir wasn’t sure was she called out after them, but it had the cadence of a word Bazi would not see Nasir learn.  


Nasir raised an eyebrow at Duro, who seemed nonplussed by the women or his own poor manners. It was no surprise Duro was on Agron’s side in whatever argument was being had. How on earth Nasir could solve their issue was beyond him.  


“Bazi never starts it,” Nasir responded.  


Duro looked at him with a mischievous grin. They both knew Duro only sided with Agron so Agron wouldn’t sulk over his little brother’s ‘betrayal’.  


They drew close to Bazi and Agron, who stood face to face flinging German sentences that Nasir couldn’t follow at their quick pace.  


“You tell lies,” Agron accused.  


Bazi sighed. “I do not!”  


Despite their words, both had something like a smile on their face. Nasir wondered how long they had been there arguing over whatever they argued over.  


“Do you not?” Nasir spoke up to make his and Duro’s presence known.  


Agron looked over and grinned. “Nasir!” he greeted.  


Bazi inclined his head, smile turning triumphant. Nasir gave him a curious look before giving Agron a smile.  


“What is happening?” Nasir asked. “Why do you argue?”  


With ease Nasir envied, Bazi switched to their native tongue. “Agron believes me to be a liar.”  


“You are a liar,” Nasir responded quickly, only for the sake of hearing his shocked sound. Nasir just smiled at him. “What lies do you tell?”  


“Of the scorpion sting.”  


Nasir took an embarrassingly long moment to look to Agron and find the German words in his mind. “He does not lie.”  


From the corner of his eye he saw Bazi move his arms in a way as if to declare his victory through movement.  


Agron nearly gaped. “Such a creature does not exist!”  


Nasir chuckled. Bazi responded, “in our land it does.”  


That did not appease Agron in the slightest. He glared at them both. He would only give up on the fight when he was able to see a scorpion in person. Nasir hoped it never came to such a thing. From what he recalled, the sting had been no small trial for Bazi, though now it was only a memory and a strange story to share with the Germans.  


“To... to cure the...” Nasir blushed, looking to Bazi. “The cure?”  


“To treat the sting,” Bazi took over, “you need a scorpion turned to powder.”  


That, evidently, was the last straw. Agron scowled. “I do not believe you,” he declared.  


Duro suddenly burst forward to stand between all three of them. “I do!”  


Agron’s mouth dropped. “Duro!”  


Nasir lent into Duro as everyone but Agron broke into a chorus of laughter.

\- - - 

The Beast was delicious.  


Nasir had never eaten anything like it. While it lacked the same flavours he was accustomed to from Yema’s cooking, it was not lacking by any means. Fat had sizzled and melted down into the meat, each bite juicy and sending hot liquids trickling down his chin. Nasir didn’t care for his manners or the raised eyebrow from Bazi as he ate his fill of the meat and then some.  
The four had found a spot near the fire. It dwindled steadily through the dark night, now a soft blanket of warmth that stretched over them.  


Nasir’s eyes were drooping he was slowly sinking into Agron’s side. Agron, like the rest of his people didn’t even blink at the contact from a stranger. He moved his arm up and around Nasir’s shoulders to make it more comfortable for them both, and in his sleep addled state Nasir burrowed closer in search of extra warmth.  


His week with the Germans had the land growing on him, but Nasir would still speak ill of the cold.  


“Should I return you to your cart?” Agron asked.  


“ _Lā_ ,” Nasir mumbled, shaking his head, “not without Bazi.” He blinked his eyes open, gaze landing on bright orange flames.  


The sight was quickly replaced by the round smiling face of little Duro. Nasir smiled back. Agron huffed beside him at Duro’s behaviour, as if he wasn’t used to the way his little brother acted at this point.  


It amused Nasir to no end the way they were with each other. Idly, he wondered if Agron and Duro shared a similar sentiment towards him and Bazi.  


It seemed unlikely. Baba and Yema had taught them better.  


Nasir gently put his foot against Duro’s chest and gave a light push. Too hard and he would send Duro back into the flames, but the light touch was enough for Duro to twist around and flop back between them; he sprawled more over Agron’s stomach, hardly sparing Nasir a touch.  


Agron huffed again. “Get off,” he grumbled.  


Duro didn’t move, and Agron made an attempt at removing his brother while keeping his arm around Nasir.  


Nasir closed his eyes and smiled.  


“There you are.”  


Sleep would forever elude him. Nasir opened his eyes, staring up at Bazi. It was nice to hear their language after an entire day and night and week of nothing but German. It was sorely needed. “Here I am.”  


Bazi dropped down into the grass. “Baba and Yema would have us return to the cart when we see fit. They intend to enjoy as much of the night as they can.”  


Nasir’s frown deepened and Bazi’s smile widened.  


“Baba and Yema?”  


“Yes.”  


“But - “  


Bazi rolled his eyes, twisted on the spot, and pointed.  


Nasir’s eyes widened.  


Baba and Yema were a fair distance away from the fire and the steadily decreasing crowd; Baba sat on a log with Yema on the grass between his legs, his fingers twisting her long hair into a simple braid. Yema stared down into a cup. Beside them, Ewald sat on the grass, his gaze drifting between the couple, never content to look at just one.  


Yema laughed at something being said and took a drink from the cup.  


She was a far sight from her tired, weak self of the morning. Nasir frowned, brow furrowing. “When did this happen?”  


It was not surprising he had missed Yema joining the celebration.  


“Ask your German dog.”  


Nasir whipped around to look at Agron. Agron stared back at him, face innocent. “You spoke to Yema?”  


Agron frowned, glancing at Bazi.  


“In German, Nasir,” Bazi sighed.  


Nasir was too tired for any of this. He took a moment, then asked in German, “you spoke to Yema?”  


“Yes.”  


“What – What did you say?”  


Agron shrugged a shoulder. Nasir looked back at Bazi.  


Bazi reached out and tugged at Nasir’s hair. He swatted the hand away. They had been in the German village close to a fortnight so Yema could rest and recover. Bazi and 

Nasir had both taken to trying to aid her, to get her in the sun, to eat more, to bring a smile to her beloved face. What could Agron have done to bring Yema back to them so easily?  


Nasir looked back to Agron; Agron looked back, gaze never wavering.  


Perhaps Germans possessed a power not unlike that of a god’s, if one German boy could so easily accomplish what often felt an impossible task.  


“ _Danke _,” Nasir murmured.  
__

__Agron grinned, cheeks going red, and looked away from Nasir.  
_ _

__“Do we return now?” Nasir looked back to Bazi who had settled back on his elbow, legs crossed. Bazi shrugged a shoulder the best he could in that position.  
_ _

__“Do you wish to?”  
_ _

__No. He did not. He was comfortable against Agron, near the fire, near his brother, near little Duro with the sound of Germans chattering around them and the strange pitched wind of the flute that some still had the energy in them to dance to. He was comfortable knowing Baba and Yema were not far off, together and happy, as they always should be.  
_ _

__“Well, my little German brother?” Bazi teased.  
_ _

__Nasir was less gentle with this kick than he had been to Duro, but it only made Bazi laugh and grab his foot in retaliation, attempting to drag Nasir out from under Agron’s arm.  
_ _

__Nasir laughed, kicked again, and because they were in the company of Germans, Duro lept from his spot on Agron to land on Bazi’s arms and Nasir’s legs.  
_ _

__It was distraction enough for Nasir to clamour away and closer to a laughing Agron, who wrapped both arms around Nasir as he pulled him to safety.  
_ _

__Bazi still laughed, and Nasir couldn’t recall a time the sound had been so loud and free from his chest. “A menace,” Bazi said to Duro and it made Duro laugh as he attempted to wrestle Bazi.  
_ _

__Eventually, Bazi would let Duro win. Nasir was sure of it._ _

____

____

\- - - 

It was only when Nasir nearly fell face first into the grass did Agron decide to put a foot down.  


“Bazi.” He waited until Bazi stopped, smiling as he looked over to Agron.  


“I would see Nasir to the cart.”  


Bazi considered him for a moment, glancing to Nasir as if Nasir had anything to offer on the matter aside from a yawn. His expression became sympathetic when it landed on 

Nasir’s tired face. Bazi nodded.  


“I will see Duro learns how to win a fight in your absence.”  


The noise of offence Duro made in response broke Nasir into a fit of tired laughter. Agron grinned, pulling him to his feet and carefully directing him away from the fire and in the direction of the cart. Duro cackled. Agron turned away before he could see what would happen next. He held out his arm for Nasir to cling to as he escorted him over the dew slick grass.

Agron didn’t want to see the other back to the cart; he would rather Nasir stay by the fire with them a bit longer so Agron could have more of his company. But it was not much company, given that Nasir was constantly falling in and out of sleep. The most Agron could do was keep a slow pace to prolong the walk.  


“When will your family return?” he asked.  


Nasir made a tired noise. “What?”  


“You leave tomorrow.”  


“Oh. Yes.”  


“When will you return?”  


“I do not know.”  


Agron bit his lip. It would probably be whenever Adamo saw fit, then. Agron didn’t know if Onkel had requested any more goods from them, but he would be asking come sunrise. If Onkel hadn’t then it was impossible to say when he would see Nasir again.  


Agron’s stomach clenched at the thought.  


“You will be missed,” he murmured.  


Nasir stopped in his tracks, forcing Agron to stop and face him. It took a moment to find the soft brown face with nothing but the moonlight to help him.  


Nasir’s brow crinkled. “Will I?”  


Resolute, Agron answered. “Yes.”  


“I think you will see us again,” Nasir mumbled.  


Desperately, Agron hoped so. Maybe the Gods would come down and tell him that yes, he would see Nasir again, because this was just the beginning for them both. The Gods didn’t, of course. They were, unfortunately, not so forthcoming.  


“I want to,” he confessed.  


Nasir’s smile widened. “ _Gut _.”  
__

Agron beamed back at him. “ _Annu kēnu _.”__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's plot on the horizon.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Gut – Good  
> Eber – Boar  
> Danke – Thank you
> 
> Annu kēnu – Yes/Positive answer  
> La - No


	4. Take Me Down to the River

Blood seeped out of Nasir’s fingers and he hissed, dropping the dagger to the ground. Immediately, he brought the nicked digits to his mouth, sucking the blood away and soothing his tongue over the small cut.  


“Do you not listen when I speak?” Baba sighed, head falling back to gaze up at grey sky before casting his eyes back down to Nasir. “Slow first. Once you understand the technique, you may attempt speed.”  


Baba picked up the dagger. It was small, well suited to Nasir’s hands, but the black handle seemed to drop in his Baba’s fingers. It was gifted to them by the Germans when their family had departed some moons ago.  


Four, to be exact.  


Four incredibly long months packed in with his family; caged like a wild animal. It was how Nasir felt, after all. Every move, every word, every breath from one another brought out bouts of frustration and rage, directed at everything and nothing. Nasir and Bazi knocked heads over every perceived slight and Baba didn’t have the patience for their supposedly ‘childish fits’.  


Nasir dropped his hand from his mouth. “Apologies,” he muttered, “but I would prefer to learn how to handle swords.”  


Baba smoothed a finger down the blade.  


Resting in the grass, hands behind his head and eyes closed, Bazi snorted at Nasir’s comment. “Yes, give the boy who can not properly handle the knife an even _larger_ knife.”  


Nasir shot him a glare that went unseen. Before he could snap back, the dagger was pressed into his hand. Nasir gripped the hilt tightly.  


“That is enough, Bazi,” Baba snapped. Nasir smiled triumphantly, emphasized it with a pleased sound only to receive a sharp look.  


Glaring, Baba pointed a finger in Nasir’s face. “Enough.”  


Nasir dropped the smile and nodded.  


“You _will_ learn swords, Nasir, but tell this: should you drop your sword, how would you defend yourself?”  


To his credit, Nasir didn’t roll his eyes. It was a fair point. Too fair. Dutifully, he answered, “with a dagger.”  


Baba smiled. “Good boy.”  


Bazi sighed, and after a barked command from Baba to go check on Yema, he was up and moving away from the two and their cart. Yema had announced need to wash herself and refused escort. Nasir had wondered if Baba’s frustrations were more at being forced away from Yema more than they were at Nasir’s incompetence with such a small weapon.  


With Bazi out of sight, Nasir tucked the dagger back into his belt. His hand dropped to his side. After a count to three, Nasir reached for the handle as he would were it a sword resting at his hip, and pulled the dagger out.  


Baba grabbed him quickly; Nasir only realizing it was happening when cold fingers wrapped around his thin wrist.  


“I do not recommend this hold,” Baba said.  


“I aim to stab.”  


“And you will not fair well in doing so. You limit your range with an already limited weapon.”  


“But will still cause wound,” Nasir insisted.  


Baba released his wrist and shook his head. “You open your centre if you stroke as such, and give your opponent too many opportunities to stop your attack.”  


“Baba, _addaniqa_ , just tell me what to do.”  


Softly, Baba smiled. “You have two options. First, you may twist it in your hand till you grasp it as so.” Baba guided Nasir through the movement, holding the dagger so it pointed behind him should he drop his hand to his side. “Or, you let it leave your hand and catch it in this position. I do not recommend such a reckless method, but have seen it employed well in skilled hands.”  


Nasir considered it. He let his gaze wander over the dull, nicked blade. It was not a testament to German craftsmanship, nor did he sense it was meant to be. It was for two young boys to use for practice without losing a finger  


“I do not favour the thought,” Nasir murmured.  


“Good. Now, let me see.”  


Carefully, Nasir attempted the motion he had been show. The handle turned between his fingers, his other hand coming up to aid in the slow movement. As he moved through it, Baba occasionally stepped in to adjust his hold or show him the movement again at varying speed.  


Slowly, Nasir improved.  


“How did you learn such things?” He asked.  


It was a long moment before Baba spoke, dark eyes fixed on Nair’s hand. “My brother taught me.”  


The dagger tumbled from his hands, the tip of the blade driving into the dirt between Nasir’s feet. Nasir didn’t even glance down. He looked to his Baba with wide eyes, voice dropping. “You have a brother?”  


Baba nodded, then hitched a shoulder. “Had, but yes. Asmar, he was called.”  


“What happened to him?”  


Baba took a deep breath, crouching down to pick up the dagger. Nasir waited. The dagger was handed back to him.  


“Again,” Baba ordered.  


Nasir forced back a sigh and did as commanded.  


“When I first began to love your Yema, a man took Asmar’s life.”  


Nasir frowned, but didn’t stop his practice. Stopping seemed to stop Baba’s train of thought; stopping would stop anything more from being revealed to Nasir.  


“Why?”  


“He overstepped.”  


“In what way?”  


Baba glanced over Nasir’s shoulder just as Yema’s voice carried through the wind, marking her and Bazi’s return.  


“Again,” Baba ordered.  


Nasir’s frown deepened, but he said nothing more. The conversation was over.

The cart rocked over the hill, swaying unsteadily. Each motion threw Nasir off balance and sent the German dagger tumbling from his hands to the wooden floor. After the third time it happened, when the blade nearly went straight into Nasir’s ankle, Bazi huffed and snatched it away. He tucked it into his own belt, out of Nasir’s reach. He could attempt to wrestle it from Bazi, but experience had taught him that was already a match he would lose. Nasir could only scowl.  


“I must practice!”  


“There will be chance to practice on steadier ground,” Bazi snapped.  


Nasir crossed his arms and sunk lower into the spread out out. “I wanted to perfect the move before we arrived upon the village.”  


“Oh?” Nasir didn’t look to his brother but could hear the smirk in his voice. “And why is that, _akhu_?”  


Nasir didn’t answer. Bazi was undeterred.  


“Planning to demonstrate for the Germans?”  


Nasir shifted.  


“For _Agron_?”  


Nasir’s head thunked against the wood as it fell back. He stared at the cloth covering. “Why do you do this?”  


“To irk you,” Bazi stated simply.  


It worked. Any hint of teasing when it came to Agron brought out Nasir’s ire. He had made a good friend in the older German; Bazi sought to twist that and claim Nasir was _smitten_ with the wild German dog and sought to leave his family for good to join the pack.  


It was ridiculous.  


“I despise you,” Nasir grumbled.  


Bazi laughed, shaking his head. They fell into a silence after that, the only sounds heard being the clop of horse hooves over firm ground and the creak of the wagon’s wheels. Baba and Yema’s voices fainly carried through the wood divide between them, but Nasir couldn’t make out their words without focusing. Across from him, Bazi had taken the dagger out, holding it firm as he studied the blade.  


“Bazi,” Nasir pushed himself upright, “what do you know of our uncle?”  


Bazi’s wrist went slack where it rested on his bent knee. He tilted his head, curls bouncing as the cart rocked, and studied Nasir carefuly. “Very little.”  


“Do you not recall him?”  


“I never met him.”  


Strange. “Has Baba told you nothing?”  


Bazi sucked in a sharp breath, gaze flicking to the barrier between him and their parents. The muffled voices didn’t cease.  


“He has told me more than you, but he has not told everything.”  


Nasir shuffled closer despite there already being so little space between them in the cart.  


“What has he told you?” Nasir whispered.  


Carefully, Bazi set the dagger down beside himself. Then he mirrored Nasir’s position, sitting cross legged and leaning in close, speaking in a low voice. “What has he told _you_?”  


“Only that he was called Asmar. He was murdered.”  


Bazi nodded. “He did not tell you why.”  


Nasir shook his head. “Baba only said that he overstepped.”  


Again, Bazi nodded. His brow creased and lips curled down. “You are very young to be hearing such things, Nasir.”  


“I am not!”  


“You are,” Bazi hissed.  


“If I am then so are _you_ , yet you are not kept in the shadows.”  


“This is different,” Bazi insisted.  


Nasir grabbed Bazi’s hand, squeezing tightly. “Baba and Yema do not have to know you told me.”  


None of his family seemed to understand how frustrating it was to be constantly declared too young for everything; how it felt as if his family always had a secret that they did not trust him with. Why could he not know? He may look younger than his eleven years due to his accursed height and slight frame, but Nasir thought himself to be mature. Why did they not all see that?  


Soft and slow, Bazi smiled, giving Nasir’s hand a squeeze in return. “Do you not know how terrible a liar you are? Baba will catch on to your mind in seconds.”  


Nasir rolled his eyes.  


Bazi continued: “we are returning to your Germans. I will not have your mood spoiled by this. When things settle in the coming days, I promise you, _akhu_ , I will tell you of our uncle.”  


There wasn’t a chance for Nasir to scoff at the idea of the Germans being his.  


“You promise,” Nasir reiterated.  


Bazi lent in till his forehead pressed against Nasir’s and pulled gently at a loose chunk of Nasir’s hair. _“Anāku qabû.”_

  


Duro tackled Nasir to the ground.  


Bazi, because he was pure evil, doubled over in laughter at Nasir’s misfortune at having a wild German thrown his way when Nasir hadn’t even made it ten steps away from the cart. Seven, if even five. Nasir hit the grass hard, air rushing from his chest and a strained grunt escaping when Duro landed heavy on top of him. The world around him spun. In the next instant, Duro was off of Nasir and diving for Bazi.  


Nasir sat up with a scowl, watching little Duro hurl himself at Bazi. Bazi, because he was _still_ evil, held his ground, catching Duro and spinning the little German around, to Duro’s delight.  


“This must mean we are welcome,” Baba laughed, his arm slung over Yema’s shoulders as they watched the greeting. Duro’s ruckus was quickly drawing the attention of others, and a stream of German greetings and smiles came their way. Nasir was finally able to right himself, gaze wandering over the coming and going members of the tribe. Some lingered to make promises of more conversation later on. Nasir ignored them in search of a more familiar face than that of just Duro.  


Agron was not in the crowd.  


“Nasir!” Duro hollered.  


Nasir turned to Duro, finally getting a proper look. He hadn’t changed; still small with round cheeks and tangled curls; still smiling everyone blind.  


“Come!” Duro grabbed Nasir’s hand and began to drag him off.  


Nasir chuckled, waving a hand at Bazi who nodded a quick shout in their tongue that he would find Nasir soon.  


“Where do we go?” Nasir asked.  


Duro went from dragging Nasir to jogging with Nasir’s hand still locked in his. “To the goats!”  


To the goats, then. They moved steadily over the grass, darting past the small shacks in the village. It looked the same as it had in Nasir’s memory, if only somewhat improved. Roofing had been patched, plots of grass dug down to soil, hanging fur partitions replaced with firm wooden doors. It looked more lived in, no longer a simple resting spot till the tribe moved on. The familiarity of it was comforting.  


The small hut they drew towards was not Agron and Duro’s. Nasir knew that immediately. Fence posts had been struck into the earth in a large, uneven space, blocking in the goats.  


They were... well, goats. The kids hopped around and bleated, excited at their newfound lives, while the older ones simply grazed along with little mind to the younger stock.  


Standing on a low support of the fence and leaning over the pen, was Agron.  


Nasir released Duro’s hand and broke into a sprint.

“Agron!”  


Nasir skidded to a stop a few yards from the other, sucking in quick breaths as he waited the painstakingly long moment for Agron to hop down from the fence and look to Nasir.

First, he seemed surprised.  


Then, confused.  


Then, _delighted_.  


“Nasir?” Agron laughed.  


They stared at each other until Duro’s footfalls drew near. He stopped at Nasir’s side and panted. “ _Und_ Duro!”  


Agorn rolled his eyes. “ _Ja ja ja, und_ Duro.”  


Nasir laughed. “There is no forgetting you even if one wants to.”  


Both brothers looked at him with wide eyes and bright grins. Nasir couldn’t fight hi own prideful smile. He owed Bazi a lifetime of thanks for teaching more of the German language. The look on Agron’s face alone made all the frustrations worth it. That was not to say Nasir was a master.  


A budding one, in the least.  


Agron reached out and wrapped an arm around Nasir’s shoulders, pulling Nasir to his side. Automatically, Nasir wrapped his arm around Agron’s waist and gave him a squeeze.  


“Agron,” Duro growled, “show him the goats!”  


“He can see the goats!”  


“Nasir!” Duro grabbed Nasir by the hand and pulled him away from Agron’s side. “The goats!  


Nasir let little Duro pull him close to the fence. Nasir hopped onto the low support bar, Agron appearing at his side.  


“They are goats.” Nasir shrugged.  


“The little ones were born a fortnight ago,” Agron said. He pointed to a brown and white kid, “she is called Kirsa.”  


Another brown and white one: “Livina.”  


A white one: “Auda.”  


A grey one: “Asco.”  


A black one: “Nasir.”  


Nasir whipped around to glare at Agron. Agron only grinned, so Nasir smacked him on the arm. That broke Agron, and he hopped down from the fence in a fit of laughter.  


“That one is Eadgar,” Duro supplied.”  


Scowling, Nasir dropped down from the fence. He crossed both arms in front of his chest. Agron cooled his laughter and took a deep breath.  


“I call him Nasir.”  


Again, Nasir hit him, and again, Agron was laughing.  


“He will be German yet!” Duro declared, clapping his hands.  


Agron stretched both arms over his head, grinning down at Nasir. “He is already more German than Syrian.”  


“You speak of me as if I am not here!” Nasir huffed.  


Agron smirked. “Did you hear that, Duro?”  


Whatever Nasir had been thinking before, it had been all wrong. Germans were horrible. Absolute beasts.  


“ _Nein_ ,” Duros responded with a chuckle, “perhaps it was the goats.”  


“Yes, yes, the goats.” Agron giggled at Nasir, reaching out to clap a hand on his shoulder.  


It was quickly shaken off. “Lā rāš tašīmti,” he grumbled.

Some hours passed before Bazi found them. They never trailed far from the goat pen. Duro, being so taken with the small creatures, wouldn’t allow it. Nasir didn’t mind. The day was brightening, the sun having finally burst forth. Nasir knew he’d have to enjoy it while he could; the oncoming German winter would be unrelenting.  


“You are a difficult bunch to find,” Bazi commented as he approached.  


Nasir looked up from his spot on the grass and flashed his brother a smile.  


“Evidently not,” Agron responded. Bazi raised an eyebrow, his eyes wandering from Agron to Nasir. He inclined his head at his brother.  


“You neglect your lessons.”  


Nasir blinked. “I... what?”  


“Your _lessons_.”  


Nasir blinked again.  


Bazi rolled his eyes, pulling the dagger from his belt. He held it by the blade so the handle faced Nasir. “Akanni akāšu šarāḫu.”  


It was not the blade gifted by the Germans. It was their Baba’s blade, a precious weapon they rarely saw take to the light of day. The ivory handle was so close to Nasir’s face it had him cross eyed looking at it. Slowly, Nasir grasped the smooth handle.  


Go brag, Bazi had told him.  


Nasir grinned.  


No doubt for Bazi it was no small task getting their Baba to give up his dagger for such a menial cause. Nasir turned around to face Agron and Duro, holding the dagger carefully.  


“This is yours?” Agron asked softly, reaching to touch the curved blade, then drawing his hand back as if burned.  


“Baba’s,” Nasir answered. “He say the handle is bone.”  


“He wields it well,” Bazi said, dropping down in the grass to sit next to Nasir.  


Duro huffed. “It is just a small sword.”  


“Duro,” Agron snapped.  


Another huff from Duro that was given no attention. Instead, all eyes were fixed on Nasir as he demonstrated the movements his Baba had painstakingly taught him. Perhaps 

Nasir was a bit of a show off. Thank the Gods he didn’t cut his fingers at such a vital moment.  


Agron beamed, nodding his approval. “Onkel still teaches us the sword.”  


“It is barely a cooking knife!” Duro insisted.  


Without warning, Agron smacked him on the back of the head.  


“In the right hands it may as well be a sword,” Bazi said.  


Duro grumbled nonsense, glaring at Agron, who ignored him.  


Agron reached out to touch the hilt. “And it is your Baba’s?”  


Nasir nodded.  


“When do you get your own?”  


Nasir shrugged. “When I am ready. Bazi does not yet have one, and he will not until Baba deems him a man.”  


Agron barked a laugh, drawing his hand back into his lap. “Are you not yet a man?” he asked Bazi.  


“More man than you, little German,” Bazi responded with ease.  


Agron scowled. “ _Duro_ is more of a man than you.”  


Nasir put a hand to his mouth to conceal a smile when Duro gaped at Agron.  


“You think yourself a man when you have no control of your temper and have yet to drop your ba-”  


“Bazi!” Nasir cut in, eyes wide as he whipped around to face his brother.  


Bazi stared at Nasir, long and hard, then sighed. “Apologies.”  


Nasir whipped around to stare at Agron expectantly.  


Agron blinked at him, the pleased expression at Bazi being chastised now gone under Nasir’s dark eyes. “He insults me!”  


“You goad him!”  


Agron rolled his eyes. Bazi chuckled. “Apologies,” Agron muttered, refusing to meet the gaze of anyone in their circle.  


Duro got to his knees and shimmied forward on the grass, trousers staining green, clearly having lost interest in whatever was transpiring.  


“What does it read here?” he pointed to the handle, decorated in small carvings of Assyrian script. Nasir glanced at it, but could only shrug and turn to Bazi. While the script looked familiar, Nasir himself had yet to learn the proper use of it.  


Bazi took the dagger, but instead of studying the inscription, he tucked it back into his belt, to everyone’s dismay. “It is a saying of Baba’s people. It reads: I am against my brother, my brother and I are against my cousin, my cousin and I are against the stranger.”  


Awkwardly, Nasir twisted on the spot to be able to face his brother, but having blocked Agron from view in the process, he shoved himself back and to Agron’s side. “I have never heard these words before.”  


Bazi continued to look to the dagger in his belt, fiddling with it as if it was not already resting comfortably. A small gust of wind blew dark curls into his face as he hitched a shoulder. “You have never heard much of Baba’s people.”  


“I know they are Bedouin!”  


“You are not Syrian?” Agron titled his head.  


“We are of Assyria, and Assyria is no small land,” Bazi responded, hesitantly looking upwards to his audience of younger boys. “There are many people to be found. Baba belongs to a group called the Bedouin.”  


“And Kaniaw?” Agron asked.  


Both Nasir and Bazi shot him a curious look at hearing him use their mother’s name. Agron shifted under the stare.  


“Yema comes from a tribe near the waters.”  


Duro asked, “how did they meet?”  


Bazi shook his head. “It is unknown to us both.” A beat passed, then his tone lifted. “Be pleased they met at all, for it is what has us gracing your lands.”  


Agron laughed, foot stretching out to gently kick Bazi’s knee. Bazi smiled.

  


The sun dipped below the horizon and took with it the warmth from Nasir’s blood. A breeze was picking up. He should have returned to the cart long ago. Bazi had already parted, escorting Duro back to Ewald on his way, and he had warned Nasir that should he not be at the cart by nightfall it would be a scolding not from him or Baba, but Yema. It was a good incentive for Nasir to keep his mind from straying too far from the hour. But as the time drew nearer for him to leave Agron’s side, Nasir ignored the setting sun. It did not matter that they would be with the Germans more than just that day. Every moment with Agron was one Nasir did not wish to see to an end.  


Even if they were still by the damned goats.  


Agron liked them more than he let on. He always took to shoving an arm through the fence, making soft clicking sounds with his tongue in an attempt to draw the younger ones closer.  


At one point, the mother had seen, approached, and Nasir had snatched a laughing Agron’s arm back in a moment of fear. Agron asked what he was so afraid of but there was no answer Nasir could give that would not have him be the butt of more teasing.  


Eventually the goats lost interest the boys, and they were left without the animals to sit at the fence with their backs against the posts. Nasir looked out over the grass hills, the spreading of trees, and orange sky; nearby were the running waters of the small river that guided Nasir’s family back to the German village. Agron, as he so often did, looked at Nasir.  


“You stare,” Nasir mumbled.  


Agron shrugged “I do.”  


“Why?”  


“Your German has improved.”  


Nasir glanced downwards. “Bazi has given lessons in our time away.”  


From the corner of his eyes, he could see Agron grin. “Oh?”  


“Shut up,” Nasir sighed.  


Another long moment passed, and this time when Agron’s gaze didn’t drift, Nasir tilted his head back and sideways to look at him. “You still stare?”  


“I do,” Agron laughed.  


“You know,” Nasir pointed a finger at him, “Bazi has said if a man’s gaze lingers I am to bare mouth.”  


Agron raised an eyebrow. “Bare teeth?”  


“Bare teeth!”  


“If a man’s gaze lingers,” Agron concluded.  


Nasir nodded, then after a moment, grinned at Agron fiercely. “It is a good thing you are just a boy.”  


That made Agron laughed, loud and hard, and Nasir savoured the sound before joining in. “Bald bin ich ein Mann,” Agron responded.  


Nasir rolled his eyes, but stilled smiled.  


“I should see you to your cart since you tire of my stare already.”  


Nasir shrugged. “I prefer the gaze of goats.”  


Agron made a noise of offence, smile betraying him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Addaniqa - Please  
> Akhu - Brother  
> Anāku qabû – I promise  
> Lā rāš tašīmti - Idiot  
> Akanni akāšu šarāḫu – Now go brag
> 
> Und – And  
> Nein – No  
> Ja – Yes  
> Bald bin ich ein Mann – Soon I’ll be a man


End file.
